‘Oh, really? Hmmm. Tasty, is he?’ It never took Billie long to latch on to an unguarded comment.
‘No, I didn’t mean it like that.’ Amy felt her cheeks burn at the lie. ‘I just meant; does it matter about him? The article is about you.’
‘Yes, but I was already imagining some of my copy, and thinking how good it would sound if the tutor was called Lorenzo or Giovanni – or how about Romeo? That would have been such fun. But Tad? Not a lot to work with, is it?’
Billie might consider Tad wasn’t a lot to work with, but as Amy dumped her shopping bags in her own room, and finally got to freshen up, to her surprise she had to admit the man had given her plenty to think about. And none of it was to do with work.
* * *
Tad drummed impatient fingers against the stainless steel of his workbench. He might have said there was no rush on the start of the lesson, but it had been organised as a learning opportunity specifically at the request of these guests.
Flicking the cuff on his chef’s jacket revealed only minutes had passed, the time sloping past with less enthusiasm than a hiker with blisters.
It wasn’t as though Tad was a stranger to the foibles of the rich and famous – he’d managed a whole season in a privately owned ski lodge high in the French Alps, cheffing for an A-list actor’s family and friends. And the actor’s wife had been one of the most difficult people he’d ever had to cook for. Nothing had been right for her, or her gaggle of equally challenging friends: Wagyu steak had been binned barely tasted; desserts were too sweet or too sharp; there were too many carbs, not enough spinach; why weren’t they having beetroot rice pudding?
To this day Tad remained unconvinced that beetroot rice pudding should even exist.
In contrast, perhaps being kept waiting a bit by the diva of the moment wasn’t a big deal. And if he ended up handling a similar experience to the one in the Alps, he was confident he could cope. He’d been in a far more fragile state of mind then. Nowadays a difficult A-lister was nothing more than a walk in the park. Minus any blisters.
He knew he was good at what he did. The interview process for his role at Casa had been almost as demanding as the A-lister’s wife. It would all be fine. Although, having said all that, if they didn’t get on with the pastry soon, it wouldn’t have enough time to chill down properly.
Tad sighed, re-strumming his unidentified rhythm on the countertop as he wondered how much longer he would have to wait.
‘Hi – Tad?’ The voice startled him into turning to see Amy in the doorway, a grin spreading across her features as she apologised for creeping up on him.
Her long blonde hair hung loose down her back, still damp from the shower; she wore the same jeans as before, but a different T-shirt – from one of the many tourist trap places down by the lake, covered in a repeating pattern of whole and halved lemons. He’d seen the motif on multiple occasions, although it was fair to say Amy was doing it far more justice than most of the people he’d seen wearing it.
‘No worries, I was just…’ What had he been doing? Nothing much except trying to keep his burgeoning irritation under control.
‘Listen, I’m so sorry, but Billie isn’t feeling very well. She’s going to have an early night, and I know how much effort you went to for us to have an extra lesson today, but…’
‘Oh. OK. No problem.’ His words sounded calm, while his brain whizzed through the repercussions for the rest of the evening and the week to come. ‘Willyoustill want the lesson? And what about your photographer guy?’
Amy scrunched up her nose. ‘I know you’ve planned on teaching us how to make lemon tart this evening, because it’s one of Billie’s favourites, and she’ll be devastated if she misses out. Is there any way we could make the tart later in the week, swap it for something else tonight?’
‘That’s absolutely fine. No bother at all.’ He reassessed her open features, the lightness to her expression as her smile lost its tension, became easy again.
‘And Malcolm is outside, scouting for photo opportunities for Billie, so I wouldn’t plan on waiting for him, either.’ She shrugged, then grinned. ‘I’m so sorry. We’re already a rubbish group.’
‘We could change it up if you like. I could show you how to make something else. How about a white peach tart made with a pastry that doesn’t need to be rested? We’ve got enough time to make that one.’
Amy checked her watch and Tad adjusted his statement.
‘Or I could make it, if you need to be doing something else. Unpacking, or whatever?’
She laughed, then shook her head. ‘My luggage never made it to Verona airport, so unpacking isn’t an issue at present.’
‘Really? What a nightmare.’ It went some way to explaining why she’d been so keen to head for the shops, and her enthusiasm for the lemon-infused T-shirt.
‘Yes. It is.’ She pulled in a deep breath. ‘Hopefully it’ll turn up soon.’
‘I’m sure it will.’
Amy glanced around, her gentle expression taking on a professional edge. ‘Right, where should I wash my hands?’
With her hair fixed back into a loose ponytail, Amy pulled on a cookery-school-logo-embossed apron. Tad led her into the smaller professional kitchen situated behind the teaching kitchen.
‘If it’s the two of us, we might as well be in here,’ he said, flicking dials on the cooker to allow it time to warm up.
